


we all write our own endings (and we all have our own scars)

by wintercreek



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:25:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercreek/pseuds/wintercreek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not enough that he looks like Blaine; of course he has to sound like him, too. But there is no way Blaine Anderson is running a café in Arizona. No way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we all write our own endings (and we all have our own scars)

**Author's Note:**

> Plot bunny and title are from Vienna Teng's "Homecoming (Walter's Song)." Thanks to [hedgerose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgerose/) and fountnofthought for betaing.

Arizona in the winter is a wasteland. Actually, it's probably a wasteland all the time, but this is Kurt's first time here so he's only qualified to pass judgment on winter. If he didn't love his father so damn much, there's no way he'd be here at all. He'd be flying over this desert, like a sensible person.

Still, there's a little café that looks a step above the kind of diner Kurt's been patronizing on this trip and a motel across the street with a "vacancy" sign. This place will do for the night.

His ears burn in the cold when he steps out of the car. The ground is slick in spots; Kurt's suddenly glad he stopped here rather than pushing on and grateful that he'd made it over the White Mountains earlier in the day. He doesn't fall on the short walk into the café, thank goodness, because the waitress is looking up already when he pushes his way inside. Kurt Hummel may not be living his dreams yet, but he doesn't need anyone to see him slip on the ice in a parking lot in Arizona, for goodness' sake.

The waitress, a young woman who looks like she has Chinese heritage and can't be more than twenty, is wiping the tables, a task she drops when the bell jingles and the door closes behind Kurt. Her nametag says "Carrie." She's so young, Kurt thinks. She looks far too tired for someone so young.

"Come on in," Carrie says with a friendly tone. "Sit anywhere you like. I recommend the corner booth over there – it doesn't get the draft from the door."

"Thank you." Kurt nods at her and crosses the floor to the aforementioned booth. He piles his coat beside him and pulls his battered paperback from the pocket.

Carrie's there as soon as he's settled. "Can I get you something to start with? Coffee, tea, hot chocolate?"

"Oh yes, something warm," Kurt sighs. "How's your coffee? This place looks nicer than a diner, but that doesn't mean your coffee's good."

"It's good," Carrie assures him. "Boss takes his coffee pretty seriously. I think he drank a lot of bad diner coffee before he washed up here. I'm told he took over ordering and brewing the coffee before he even owned this place. Almost from his first day here, the story goes."

Kurt smiles at her. "That's marvelous news. Coffee, definitely."

Carrie's already moving. She calls over her shoulder, "I'll have that for you in a sec, and I'll bring you a menu." She's trim and graceful. The part of Kurt that wants everyone to have abandoned dreams pictures her as a dancer, someone who might once have been Juilliard-bound.

She's back with the coffee almost immediately. Nothing's very far away in a café this small. Kurt holds the mug under his nose, savoring the steam and the smell, before taking a too-hot mouthful. "Oh, yes," he moans. "That is good."

"Told you." Carrie beams, laying the menu on the scratched table near his hand. "Just holler when you know what you want."

"Carrie," Kurt says.

She stops and turns. "Yes?"

He flushes. "Is it okay if I call you Carrie? I saw your nametag, but I shouldn't presume, I'm sorry." He's thinking of every garage client who's felt free to take him to task by name for some imagined slight or missed maintenance, just because Kurt had a patch on his coveralls that gives his name away. At least he had the sweetness of informing them that he was Kurt Hummel, of Hummel Tires and Lube, yes _that_ Hummel before asking if they wanted to speak with the owner instead of the owner's son.

"It's fine," she says. "You don't seem creepy like some of the people we get in here." She holds out a hand to him. "Hi, I'm Carrie."

Kurt shakes her hand. "Hello. I'm Kurt." Her left hand's hanging at her side, a ring shining on her third finger. "You must get creeps, if they're hitting on a married woman."

"Uh." Carrie fidgets. "Yeah, they're— Sorry, I shouldn't speak ill of customers. Everyone has their own way, and as long as they've got to eat, they help keep us open."

"I know just what you mean," Kurt tells her with enough tired understanding in his voice that she stops fussing with her apron strings and grins at him.

She cocks her hip. "Now that we've got that out of the way, what can I do for you, Kurt?"

Kurt leans forward over the table. "Is your boss's taste in food as good as his taste in coffee?"

"You bet. Want me to surprise you?" Carrie asks. There's a delicious scent coming out of the door, not far from Kurt's booth, with 'Employees Only' written on it.

" _Yes,_ " Kurt says. "Bring me something marvelous." He watches her as she disappears through the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the kind of man who brews coffee like this in rural Arizona. The man he sees through the swinging door is short and slight with curly dark hair and a full beard. Just for a moment, he reminds Kurt of Blaine. At least enough years have passed that the reminder is bittersweet and not the stab of pain and regret it would once have been.

Kurt pulls out his book and loses himself in it for a few minutes. His attention's recalled to the café when Carrie and her boss start singing in the kitchen. She's got a mezzo-soprano voice that's nice enough, if unrefined. Kurt gets a flash of his college choir director declaring that all women were mezzo-sopranos until they got some training. Her boss has a warm tenor voice that sounds like he must have had some formal experience. It's not enough that he looks like Blaine; of course he has to sound like him, too. But there is no way Blaine Anderson is running a café in Arizona. No way.

A few minutes later, Carrie slides a plate in front of him. It has the most perfect omelet Kurt's ever seen, light and fluffy eggs topped with cheese that somehow doesn't shine with nauseating grease. The toast beside it is something multigrain and hearty looking. Carrie hovers while Kurt cuts a bite and tastes it.

He doesn't groan as loudly for the omelet has he had for the coffee, but it's a near thing. "This is fantastic," he says once he's swallowed. "And the onions— The mushrooms— _Where_ are you getting produce this good in the _winter_ in _Arizona?_ "

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Carrie slides into the booth next to him and whispers, "Boss makes a point of being friends with California farmers. They get their drivers to stop off here on their ways to other places. We couldn't afford the shipping on proper orders, but it's amazing what people will arrange for you when they're feeling kind." She winks at him.

"My compliments to your boss on all counts," Kurt says. "If I'm ever in a position to arrange something for him, I'll remember this meal as a kindness."

Carrie opens her mouth to answer, but she's interrupted by the bell on the front door jingling. A woman in her thirties and a little girl, probably three years old, walk in. "Mommy!" the little girl cries.

Carrie walks briskly over and picks her up. "There's my girl," she says, swinging the child on to her hip. "Were you good today?"

"Yes," the girl says. Carrie looks over her shoulder at the older woman, who nods in confirmation.

From a second door to the kitchen, one that opens close to the front of the café, the man who looks like Blaine walks out. He's holding out his arms for the girl. "Anna, do you want to come say hi to me?" he asks.

"Yes!" she giggles. Carrie passes her to the man and as he turns Kurt gets a good look at his face. He doesn't just look like Blaine. He _is_ Blaine, Kurt's sure of it. Older, wearing a grease-stained apron and square glasses, and with that inexplicable beard, but he's definitely Blaine.

Kurt sinks down in his booth. The omelet has lost all its appeal for him, but he chokes down half of it, not wanting to have to explain to Carrie why he abandoned the meal he'd just been praising. He can see Blaine's left hand from here and there's a ring on it, a plain band like the one Carrie wears.

With a sting of shame, Kurt remembers their conversation after Blaine kissed Rachel, back in high school. He'd been so shocked by the possibility of Blaine being bi that he'd lashed out, and it had been a relief when Blaine had declared himself gay after all. Now Kurt wonders if that was just another role Blaine felt he had to play. He'd seemed so happy with the idea of a girlfriend, someone his parents would understand. Maybe he'd decided to pretend he had no interest in women as long as Kurt was around.

Anna doesn't look much like Blaine or Carrie, with her wavy hair and fair complexion, but maybe up close she has Carrie's eyes and hair that curls like Blaine's. Maybe in the summer sun she tans like Blaine does. Blaine sets her down, and Kurt can see her start twirling like she's dancing to the music on the radio. He thinks about his guess, that Carrie was once a dancer – or going to be one – and smiles. Whatever happened to Carrie, and to Blaine, Kurt's sure they'll make Anna's dreams come true.

For a cowardly moment Kurt considers leaving money on the table and sneaking out, but there's no point. Blaine and Carrie are still standing near the front door, talking with the woman who brought Anna in. Kurt lifts his book back to his face and resolves to hide behind it until Blaine goes back into the kitchen.

Kurt looks up when he hears footsteps near him and prepares to smile for Carrie. It's not Carrie, though. It's Blaine, and Kurt can feel his mouth hanging unattractively open. "Uh," he manages. "Hello."

"Hi," Blaine says, smiling shyly. "I didn't think there was any way it was you when I saw you over here, buried in your book. What are the odds, right?"

"Yeah." Kurt swallows. "So—"

Blaine shifts his weight awkwardly. "So. What brings you through here?" He doesn't give Kurt time to answer before he says, "I bet you're on your way to LA or San Francisco for a job. Did you find a rep company you like?"

"Not exactly," Kurt says. He picks up his coffee, sipping desperately at the dregs.

"A tour, then," Blaine declares. "Must be west coast, since it's not based out of New York. Unless you're someone's understudy. But you were always so good. They'd be stupid not to have you on stage as often as possible."

"That's sweet," Kurt says, thinking that at least Blaine still believes Kurt has potential.

But he must have said it wrong, because Blaine's face closes down. "Yeah, well, not all of us dream as big as we used to," he says bitterly. "I guess I can't imagine what your life is like."

You can't, Kurt wants to say, because it's not at all what I thought it would be. But it's too late and Blaine's already turned away, disappearing behind the counter. Kurt puts his hands over his face, miserable. He can't bring himself to eat another bite.

Carrie taps him gently on the shoulder when she comes over with the check. "Are you all right? Did the boss say something to upset you?"

"It's okay, Carrie," Kurt says, looking up. "I saw him at the door with you. I saw your rings. You don't have to pretend he's just your boss."

Carrie bites her lip.

Kurt forces himself to smile at her. "Your daughter's beautiful."

"She is, isn't she?" Carrie answers, brightening. "Her name's Anna. She's in the break room right now, coloring. Would you like to meet her?"

"No, no, that's fine." Kurt shakes his head. "I wouldn't want to disturb her. She's what, three?"

Carrie nods. "Yeah. Best surprise that ever happened to me, even if this isn't what I planned for myself." She considers Kurt. "You look like someone whose plans haven't worked out, if you don't mind me saying. Maybe there's a surprise out there for you."

"Maybe." Kurt sighs. "Anyway, I'd better go get some rest. I need to be on the road early tomorrow."

"Stop by before you go and get some coffee, okay?" Carrie sets the check on the table and waits.

"Okay," Kurt agrees. He sets a twenty on top of the check and says, lightly, "Keep the change. And thanks for the company."

Carrie answers, "Sure. Thank you." She watches him gather his things, her arms folded and a small frown creasing her forehead.

Kurt turns at the door and waves to her. He carefully doesn't look in the kitchen as he goes.

*

The motel across the street is every bit as cheap as it looks, but it's clean and that's all Kurt needs. His standards have dropped on this trip, which at least puts them in line with his budget. He drops his overnight bag on the bed and flops down next to it.

He can't stop doing the math in his head. He's twenty-six, which makes Blaine twenty-five, and Anna's three. So Blaine was twenty-two when she was born. Did he finish college? Did he drop out, or marry Carrie while in school? And how old is Carrie? She must have been eighteen when Anna was conceived; Kurt just can't picture Blaine picking up high school girls once he was in college.

But maybe Carrie started college young and Blaine didn't know. Maybe she's older than she looks. Maybe— Maybe Kurt's making himself crazy trying to work out something that's none of his business. They seem happy enough. If Kurt's smart, he'll stop thinking about them.

He closes his eyes and tries one of the mind-clearing techniques from the class Rachel dragged him to last year. He's pleased by the speed with which he pushes Blaine and Carrie from his mind. Anna, though, persists. For all that Kurt never got a good look at her, he can hear her little voice and see her dancing. He doesn't even know if Blaine wanted kids, he realizes. They were so young when they were together. They'd never talked seriously about it.

Breaking up had been the right thing to do. Kurt remembers agonizing over it, that year they spent apart. They'd drifted, Kurt immersing himself wholeheartedly in New York in a way Blaine just couldn't keep up with – not while trapped in Ohio – and then Blaine had suddenly said he was visiting schools in California and Kurt hadn't been able to face the idea of more years spent explaining the details of their lives to each other. He had already felt stretched too thin, like he was living everything twice: once for real, and again as a shadow of the experience as he relayed it to Blaine over Skype. It was too hard to shorthand everything they weren't sharing. Kurt couldn't bear the idea of receiving only the sketched outlines of Blaine's life, three time zones away.

Blaine must have made it. He'd probably gone to UCLA, or USC, maybe done a business degree. The café out here was probably the first step in an empire of little places bringing decent coffee and good food to weary travelers. He might have had different plans, but he had Carrie and Anna, now.

"The best surprise that ever happened to him," Kurt murmurs. He rolls on his side, curling sadly in on himself. "I used to be a surprise." He remembers Blaine's face on the stairs of McKinley, remembers him saying, "You always zig when I think you're going to zag." Well, Kurt had finally zagged, away from Blaine. It's good he'd found someone else. It is.

Kurt's still lying there when the light coming in around the motel's thin curtains changes. He gets up and looks out the window: the café's lights are off now. This is Kurt's last chance to see Blaine and ask what happened to bring him here.

If he's smart, Kurt will pull the curtains closed and go take a shower. He'll let this go. Blaine obviously hadn't been happy to see him earlier, based on the way their interaction had ended. He didn't seem to have any curiosity about Kurt's life.

But Kurt's not that smart, not tonight when he has a chance to find out where Blaine's life went without him, not when he has so many new questions he wants answered. He steps back into his boots and pulls his coat on. The room key is in his pocket and he's not giving himself a chance to second-guess what he's doing.

He flings the motel door open, slams it behind him, and steps out into the parking lot, looking down to check for ice. When Kurt looks up, he stops in his tracks.

Blaine is standing the parking lot. "Hi," he says.

"Hi," Kurt echoes. "Shouldn't you be headed home with your wife and child?"

Flinching, Blaine shakes his head. "Can we talk?"

Kurt steps backwards. "Yeah. Come in." He opens his motel room and Blaine follows him inside. It's a terrible idea, Kurt realizes once they're in. The only place to sit is the bed. He should have insisted they go to the café, where there would be a table between them and maybe mugs of coffee to hide behind.

Blaine hovers uncertainly by the door.

In a moment, Kurt's moved his bag to the floor and piled his coat on top of it. He takes a seat on the bed, patting the bedspread near him but not too near, hopefully. "Have a seat." It occurs to him that Blaine may be remembering the cheap motel room they'd rented outside Lima, once when they were desperate and couldn't wait for one set of parents or another to be out of town.

Sitting gingerly, Blaine folds his hands in his lap and faces Kurt. He looks like he's steeling himself for an unpleasant conversation. Kurt cringes preemptively, then hopes Blaine didn't see it.

"I never told you why I started looking at schools in California," Blaine says.

Kurt startles. This is not the conversation he was expecting, but it is something he wants to know. He tilts his head inquiringly at Blaine.

Blaine sighs. "My parents were never happy about the idea of me moving to New York. I think you might have guessed that. What I didn't tell you was that they told me they wouldn't pay for school there. They said they'd pay for any college in Ohio, or my dad's alma mater, and I'd have to persuade them to consider anywhere else."

"Oh," Kurt says faintly.

"My dad went to Stanford, did you know that?" Blaine asks.

Kurt shakes his head.

"I didn't want to admit that I couldn't convince them to send me to school in New York, and Stanford's a good university, so I thought, 'Why not sell it like it's my idea? Why not say I'm looking at California, and pretend LA is on the table, and then wind up at Stanford.' It was dumb." Blaine looks down at his hands. "I should have told you everything that was happening. But, Kurt, you felt so far away. You had this life, the life you always wanted, and I couldn't make my dreams come true. I told myself I had to make new dreams and be happy with those."

"It might not have changed anything," Kurt says. "Even if I knew it wasn't your idea, it still would have been hard to have you so far away. I wanted to share college with you so much. I wanted to share everything with you. I guess I didn't think about how to make that happen."

Blaine nods slowly. He brings one leg up on to the bed and half-turns, more of his body facing Kurt.

Kurt makes himself smile. "But it was for the best, right? I— I was just picturing it, you with a chain of little cafés serving great food and better coffee, and your family— I bet your parents are happy to have a granddaughter. I didn't meet Anna, but she looks adorable, and Carrie's lovely. I'm happy for you." He takes a breath. "How did you two meet?"

"It's not like that," Blaine says. "It's— I have to tell you the rest. I got into Stanford, and I thought things were going to be kind of okay. I had a partial scholarship, enough that I didn't feel so beholden to my parents. And that was the problem. After graduation I had a big fight with my dad – the biggest – and he disowned me. Cut off my college money, threw me out of the house, everything. I got to take my car, because the title was in my name, and I grabbed some clothes and stuff, and my computer, and I was gone. I thought I'd drive out to California anyway and see if I could talk my way into more financial aid, or maybe get a deferral and a job." He falls silent.

When it seems Blaine's not going to go on, Kurt prompts, "What happened?"

Blaine laughs tiredly. "I broke down here. I didn't budget my cash very well, and my dad cut off my cards, so when the car broke down I couldn't get it fixed. Sheila, the lady who used to run the café, took pity on me. I started waiting tables and sleeping in her spare bedroom. That was seven years ago."

"Oh, Blaine." Kurt finds himself scooting toward Blaine, reaching for his hands. He stops himself. "Carrie said you bought the café, right?"

"Yeah. Sheila wanted to retire and I think she felt sorry for me. She sold me the café after I'd been here three years. I was twenty-one, and I didn't have any self-confidence, except where ordering the coffee was concerned. I guess she thought owning a business would help me pick myself up." Blaine leans ever so slightly towards Kurt, and it's all the encouragement Kurt needs.

He doesn't give himself time to doubt, just scoots the rest of the way and puts his arms around Blaine. It was always easier for Blaine to talk about his disappointments over Kurt's shoulder; maybe that's still true.

"There's no chain of cafés like you were picturing," Blaine continues. "There's just this one. But it's not so bad. I don't have a lot of friends here – just Carrie, now, since Sheila moved away – but I have people I talk to online. I'm thinking about taking distance classes at University of Arizona, so maybe I will get a business degree after all."

"Where does Carrie come into things?" Kurt asks quietly.

Blaine tenses in Kurt's arms. "She— She showed up six months after I bought the café. She'd run away from home because she got pregnant, and her parents weren't the understanding, supportive kind. I could relate, a bit."

Kurt pulls back just enough to look at Blaine. "How old is she?"

"She was seventeen." Blaine closes his eyes. "Her car broke down, like mine had. I helped her get it fixed and she kept driving. I guess she made it to northern California before something made her turn around. Then she came back here and a few months later she had Anna."

"So Anna's not yours." Kurt feels weird pushing this, but he needs to be sure he understands.

"God, no," Blaine says. "Her boyfriend in North Carolina – that's where she's from – the first time they slept together, he refused to use a condom. And she got pregnant. Carrie ran away before her parents found out. She spent the whole drive out here steeling herself to have an abortion, where they'd never know about it, and then she was going to go back. Or maybe stay, I'm not clear on that. But she changed her mind, and when she did she remembered that I'd helped her so she came back here."

Kurt breathes slowly for a moment, steadying himself. "When did you marry her?"

Blaine's eyes snap open. "That's what I really came to tell you," he says. "I didn't. It's— This isn't the best place to be an unwed mother _or_ a gay man. When Carrie came back, I gave her a job waitressing and a place to stay, and one morning we decided to be each other's cover stories. Eventually we got a house with three bedrooms. We planned to pretend her room was a guest room if anyone ever asked, but we never have people over." He watches Kurt intently. "It's weird, but please believe me: it's the truth."

"Okay," Kurt manages to say.

"Tell me about your life," Blaine requests. "I want to hear about what you've been up to."

Kurt closes his eyes, now, and falls backward on the bed, abruptly unable to have this conversation sitting up or looking at Blaine. "I finished college, and stayed in New York," he says. "I spent two years trying to make it in the theatre business, but there just aren't parts for people like me. With my voice, I mean. And then my dad—" He breaks off.

There's a shift on the mattress as Blaine lies down beside him. He takes Kurt's hand. "Your dad?"

"He had another heart attack. He's okay," Kurt adds hurriedly. "But I moved back to Lima and started working in the garage with Finn so he could stay home and recover. It wasn't a sacrifice. My big theatre career turned out to be a bust."

"I'm sorry," Blaine whispers.

Kurt opens his eyes and rolls to face Blaine. "So am I. Sorry that your dreams didn't work out either, I mean. You've had it a lot harder than I have."

Blaine shakes his head. "Let's not play that game. What happened after you moved back to Lima?"

"I stayed there for two years, and then I got the idea to try making it as a screenwriter. Dad needed a car delivered to LA – sometimes we do that for people who are moving and don't want to drive themselves – and it seemed like fate." Kurt smiles ruefully. "And here I am."

"Maybe it was fate." Blaine's gaze flicks between Kurt's eyes and his lips. "Kurt, I—"

Kurt licks his lips. "I think, if your 'wife' won't mind, you ought to kiss me now."

Blaine doesn't waste time answering. He moves toward Kurt, cupping Kurt's face with his hands and kissing him softly. It's tentative, not like the kisses they'd shared before, and Kurt wonders if Blaine has kissed anyone since him. Who could he kiss, in a small town in Arizona with a fake wife?

Kurt rolls them over, pressing Blaine down under him, and takes control. He presses kisses to Blaine's jaw, bites lightly down his neck and licks into Blaine's ear. Blaine groans and presses up against Kurt. They're both hard, and for a moment Kurt is eighteen again: they have endless possibility in front of them and that certainty that they're meant to be together. It stops him for a second, but it's enough; he pushes the memory away too late. The moment's broken and Blaine's watching him sadly. Kissing Blaine's forehead, Kurt slides off of him.

"We can't," Blaine says, quiet and despairing. "How would this even work?"

There's a crack in the ceiling above them. Kurt keeps his eyes on it. "If this were a movie, you'd give the café to Carrie and come to LA with me. We'd get a tiny apartment and all our dates would be picnics on the beach because we wouldn't be able to afford anything else. I'd work in a garage and write screenplays in the evenings, and you'd wait tables or work in a coffee shop and go to night classes at the community college. We'd be poor but happy."

Blaine makes a noise that sounds like a sniffle. Kurt doesn't dare look at him.

"I'd finally sell a screenplay, for a modest amount that would still be enough to jumpstart my career, just as you got into UCLA on a full scholarship, and the dreams of our past would come true after all. Just later than we thought." Kurt stops. He has to clear his throat before he can go on. "But this isn't a movie, and it's ten hours from here to LA so it's not like I could run out here to date you on the weekends, even if it weren't for your sham marriage."

Blaine's silent.

That's it, Kurt thinks. This can't have been fate, because what kind of fate would bring them together again like this only for it all to fall through? He refuses to cry until Blaine leaves, and he refuses to throw Blaine out. He's left biting his lip and staring fixedly at that stupid crack in the ceiling.

"I _could_ give Carrie the café," Blaine finally says. "Everyone would think I left her, and she got the café in the divorce. Then her reputation would be protected, because she'd be the single mother with a deadbeat ex-husband rather than the unwed teenage mother. And it wouldn't matter to me: she's my only friend in this town anyway."

"What about the woman who watches Anna?" Kurt asks, unable to believe they're having this conversation.

Blaine shrugs, a movement that brings his shoulder into contact with Kurt's. "She's Carrie's friend. She's just nice to me because she thinks I'm Anna's dad."

Kurt rolls on his side, facing Blaine. "This is crazy," he says. "You want to give up your whole life to move in with your ex-boyfriend, who you haven't seen in seven years, and the whole thing will probably backfire spectacularly on both of us."

"Then let's do it slowly," Blaine insists. "You go to LA, and I'll stay here, but we'll email, and Skype, and talk on the phone. We can visit on weekends. Well. Probably I should come to you, or maybe we can meet in Flagstaff or something. We can go to the Grand Canyon. It doesn't matter. The point is, we can do it slowly enough that we can back out if something goes wrong."

Kurt sits up. "And then?"

Blaine grins. "We make it work. I like the sound of the life you just described. I can make coffee or wait tables or whatever." He sits up too and takes Kurt's hands. "I really don't think it will go disastrously wrong. I think it'll be hard, but haven't the past years been hard for both of us? And don't you think we can make it easier if we do it together?"

"This wasn't the plan—" Kurt starts.

" _None_ of this was the plan," Blaine breaks in. "Me owning a café and taking in a teen mom? You moving back to Ohio and driving across the country in winter? Life's full of surprises, Kurt."

Kurt blinks at him. "And you might be the surprise I need," he says wonderingly. "The best surprise that ever happened to me. Twice."

"That's a reference I'm not getting," Blaine says.

"It's okay," Kurt answers. "I'll explain it to you later." He kisses Blaine, letting the sense of possibility come back.

When they part, they're both breathing hard. "If we're truly doing this slowly, I'd better go," Blaine says.

Kurt exhales. "Yes." He takes Blaine's hand and squeezes it. "And you need to explain the plan to Carrie."

"Yeah." Blaine pulls his phone from his coat pocket and passes it to Kurt. "Here, give me your number."

"I expect a wake-up call," Kurt says as he enters his email, phone and Skype username: every piece of contact information that might be useful. "I hear there's a great café here with divine omelets, and I expect you to meet me there for breakfast."

Blaine laughs. "Oh?"

Kurt tugs him close and says into Blaine's ear, softly like it's a secret, "Don't you know? It's the best surprise in the state of Arizona."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Too Fragile in the Ending (The Language of Loss Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/752032) by [knittycat99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knittycat99/pseuds/knittycat99)




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